


10 pm Phone Calls

by shipsanddip



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bottom Derek Hale, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Phone Sex, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:20:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipsanddip/pseuds/shipsanddip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek goes away to deal with a hostile rival pack, and Stiles calls him up to settle his nerves.</p><p>“Ah, you feeling a bit stressed out big guy?” </p><p>“Yes,” he says, voice raspy.</p><p>“It’s okay. I’m going to take care of you right now."</p>
            </blockquote>





	10 pm Phone Calls

**Author's Note:**

> characterdevelopmentwrites over on tumblr told me to write sub!derek. Sooooo I did. I accidentally fluffed. Hope you enjoy!

He’s only just put the briefcase down (it says something about his life now that interacting with another pack means carrying a briefcase) on the armchair in the corner when his phone rings. He turns and walks to pick it up, the incessant shouts of _Go Go Power Rangers_ making his eye twitch. Erica fucking Reyes. He's got to remember to lock the damn thing the second he removes it from his person.

Catching the caller id on the screen, he inhales softly and sits down on the bed before picking up.

“Hello?”

“Hiya, big bad. How did it go?”

Stiles' voice in his ear makes his body go lax and a small sigh leaves his lips. He hadn’t even been aware how wound up he was until the tension in his back seemed to ease just now.

“Fine. They’re a bit stricter on protocol up here but it's fine. Tense but… I don’t think they see us as a threat.”

“Hah, that’s good. Considering we didn’t exactly give their beta a warm welcome.”

“First trespasser in three years. They agreed we had cause for concern.”

Stiles laughs and the sound of it makes him smile in return.

“I’m glad they see it that way. Certainly makes this easier.”

“Yeah,” Derek says quietly, rubbing at his temple. Werewolf or not, he still gets headaches.

“Ah, you feeling a bit stressed out big guy?” Stiles’ voice has dropped an octave and the concern he hears in it makes him wish for home, for their bed, _Stiles_. Which is pathetic, he’s only been away for 48 hours. And yet… He closes his eyes and nods before realising Stiles can’t see him.

“Yes,” he says, voice raspy.

“It’s okay. I’m going to take care of you right now. Are you alone?”

Derek has to reach up and tug at his tie, throat suddenly dry and skin hot with Stiles’ promise.

“Yes,” he breathes.

“Good. Put me on speaker and take your clothes off.”

Derek moves the phone from his ear and hits speaker, pushing the volume up before tossing the phone on the bed. The room is simple but clean, impressive for a little motel in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by dense forest, it sits just on the outskirts of the Johansson pack territory. The room is draped in warm shades of beige, inoffensive but impersonal. Foreign. It’s ridiculous how attached he’s become to his own house, his own woods. Standing up, he toes off his brown leather shoes, fingers reaching for the knot of his tie.

“Keep the tie,” Stiles says, voice catching, making Derek gasp as he moves his hands to his blazer instead and pulls it off. He rolls his shoulders the moment he’s free from the constricting garment, working his muscles loose. Folding the blazer neatly over the arm of the chair, he moves on to the brown belt he’s wearing, softly tracing the silver buckle.

“You wearing my belt, Derek?”

He blushes, having thought he’d gotten away with it this time.

“Yes.”

Stiles tsks fondly.

“I was looking for that this morning. Does it smell like me?”

It does. Dressing up for an official pack meeting means wearing his formal clothes that have been stuffed into the back of the closet since Scott and Allison’s wedding. Anything less would have been deemed an insult to the Johansson's but all they smelt of were mothballs. Derek had wanted a reminder of his anchor there, present. 

“Yeah it does,” He says, a small smile on his lips and in his voice. 

Stiles hums, clearly pleased.

“Only three more months and then I can come with you on these things rather than have you sneak pieces of my wardrobe into your luggage. Take it off but leave it on the bed.”

Derek does as he’s told and continues removing his clothes, the mention of their upcoming bonding making his body heat up all over. Everything ends up folded on the chair until he’s standing completely naked by the bed, save for the tie, arms around his chest and hands hugging his sides.

“Feel good, Derek? Does it feel good to get it all off, shed the day, the stress?”

Derek breathes out long and hard, feeling himself go gradually more boneless just from having Stiles suggest it. He nods and then remembering himself again says,

“Yes.”

“You gonna be good for me?”

Derek can’t answer quickly enough, voice hitching on its way out,

“Yes. Always.”

“That’s good Derek, you are, always good. Go look in the front pocket of your bag, I put something in there for you.”

Derek strides over to the black duffle sitting on the carpet in the right hand corner, shivering with anticipation, and fumbling with the zipper. Pulling it open with a snap, he reaches inside and rummages about until his fingers close on something at the bottom.

“What is it Derek?”

Stiles’ voice is loud in the completely still room, as Derek looks down at his open palm.

“A plug,” he whispers, cheeks flushed with colour and cock pulsing.

“What was that? Couldn’t quite hear you there.”

He clears his throat but his voice still comes out raw.

“A plug.”

“Yeah? What does it look like?”

He pulls his fingers over it, feeling the smooth rubber dip along the ribbing down its sides.

“Big.”

“Use your words, Derek.” Stiles sing-songs, with a note of gentle amusement.

Derek takes a deep breath and pushes it out between his teeth, steadying himself.

“It’s thick,” he says, the very word itself thick in his throat, “thick and black. And it’s ribbed.”

He fishes out the tube of lube he’d bumped across in the pocket and tosses it on the bed. Then he takes hold of the plug again, circling it with his thumb and index finger.

“It’s new. Bigger than the one we have at home.”

“Yeah. I bought it especially. Say thank you, Derek.”

It’s his voice. Always his voice. Derek should be embarrassed by how easily it makes him break out into a sweat, how quickly it can have him on his knees, pleading. But Stiles always tells him it’s okay, Stiles always pulls his fingers through his hair and praises him for being good. Praises Derek for letting him in and thanks him for his trust. Stiles opens him up and makes him feel light, safe. Well taken cared of.

“Thank you Stiles,” he says and tries to convey that he means for more than the plug.

“You’re very welcome. Do you want to know what it feels like? Do you want me to fuck you with it?”

Derek’s eyes flutter shut and he has to lean his head back into the shudder thundering up his spine. He keens in reply, cock standing out from his body, fully hard.

“Yes, ” he breathes, barely audible.

“Then I will. Get on the bed,” Stiles' own voice is rough, and some static comes through on his end of the line as Derek moves onto the bed, putting the phone on the nightstand.

“Where are you?” he asks, leaning back against the headboard.

“Just moved over to our bed, finally alone in the house. Couldn’t wait to call you but Boyd and Erica refused to leave before the end of the last quarter.”

Derek bites down on his lower lip, refusing to let the twitch in the corner of his mouth spread out into a full smile.

“She hacked my phone and put the Power Rangers theme as my ring tone.”

There’s a sound like Stiles is suppressing a snort against his arm.

“Guess I'm gonna have to make her pancakes when she comes over tomorrow.”

He can hear the wide, teasing grin in Stiles’ voice even with 400 miles between them.

“Did you bring the lube?”

The change of tone grounds Derek back in the moment and he picks up the discarded tube from the sheets.

“Yes,” he swallows against his parched mouth, skin starting to prickle in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Good. Get on your hands and knees. I want you to leave the plug for now but put it somewhere close where you can see it. Then I want you to drop to your shoulders, Derek.”

Derek does just that, leaning down heavily on his forearms before dropping to his shoulders at Stiles’ command, ass still high in the air. It has only been two days since he’s last been in this position, but then Stiles had been behind him, soothing his hands down Derek’s chest and whispering softly against his neck while his cock sank deep and deeper still into Derek’s ass. He moans at the memory.

“Are you touching yourself?” Stiles’ voice is stern over the speaker.

“N-no,” he stutters out. “Just thinking about… two days ago.”

“Oh,” Stiles clicks his tongue, his next words heavy as they reach Derek.

“Were you thinking about me fucking you against the wall? Or when I had you on all fours, just like now?”

“All fours,” Derek breathes and fuck, Stiles hasn’t even let him touch himself yet. And still…

“You love it when I have you like this, don’t you? I can reach so deep when you’re all spread out. Ready for me to fuck you open, fuck into you until you can’t even remember your own name.”

The air sticks in Derek’s throat, it’s so dry.

“Stiles please,’ he chokes.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. Wet your fingers for me.”

Derek reaches for the lube and gets his fingers dripping wet from fumbling it with his shaking hands.

“Circle your hole. Gently.”

Just hearing Stiles speak like that, fucking _obscene_ , has him moaning loudly before his fingers even find their target. He’s on edge now, every nerve ending twitching and seeking contact. Touching the sensitive skin along the rim of his hole with wet fingers has him gasping for breath.

“That’s it. Slowly.’ Stiles voice keeps him anchored, keeps him centred on the task because he wants to be good, wants to do good for Stiles and Stiles alone. His hair is matted with sweat, body shining with it as his muscles clench and unclench under the strain put on his shoulders and the push and pull of his knees against the sheets and mattress.

“Please Stiles, please.”

“Yeah, do it. Push a finger inside yourself, Derek. Let me hear you.”

If he wasn’t so far gone, he would’ve been embarrassed by the groan leaving his lips, which must make it through the thin motel walls, must reach ears on the other side, so loud, as he pushes his finger past the initial resistance and then into welcoming heat.

The wet slide of what is undoubtedly Stiles’ hand on his own cock and his ragged breathing comes clearly over the speaker and it makes Derek moan even louder. The image in his head of Stiles leaning against the headboard of their bed, pale skin surrounded by blue sheets and hand wrapped firmly around his cock has Derek pushing in deeper, bending his finger and stretching his hole to make room, make room for everything Stiles has planned for them.  

“Add a second finger,” Stiles says, gruff and breathless.

“Yes,” Derek’s voice is an actual hiss, his middle finger joining his index on an outstroke and then pushing back in past the resistance that burns only for a few seconds. He can’t keep the moans at bay even if he’d want to, couldn’t deny Stiles his desperation even if he tried. More lube, he’s getting so wet, the sound of his fingers sinking into his body makes his cheeks run red.

“Third. I want you dripping, Derek.”

He should feel embarrassed by this, should feel ashamed for needing it, but Stiles is right there and he’s being good for Stiles. Stiles sees him like this, knows him like this and praises him, thanks him, loves him still.  He pushes more lube inside, stretching his hole with three fingers firmly, unrelentingly, gazing through wet lashes at the plug just inches from his face. He wants it. He wants it so bad.

“I’m ready, Stiles please, I’m ready.”

“Okay, okay. Christ Derek, you’re doing so well. Take the plug and lube it up.”

Derek grasps at it, repressing a moan as he removes his fingers from his ass in favour of taking hold of the lube and coating the plug in it. It shines in the dim light coming from the bathroom.

“Sit up. Lean back against the wall and spread your legs.”

Stiles words are hypnotising and he strains up against his protesting thigh muscles, skin flaming with heat and sweat dripping down his chest.

“Fuck, I wish I could see you. Wish I could bite your jaw and hold your hips still while you’re doing this. Line up the plug and sink down on it, Derek. Slowly, slowly, that’s it.”

Derek lets Stiles’ voice guide him down, feeling first the nudge of the tip against his stretched hole, before the plug flares wide. He can’t repress the sob that escapes his lips with the burn raking up his back, from its seat at the base of his spine. It’s too much and yet not nearly enough at the same time and just when he thinks he can’t take any more, the plug tapers down and seats itself fully inside his body. He shudders and moans, standing at the brink, overwhelmed.

“So good for me, perfect. Always.” Stiles' praise is soft, his voice soothing. It helps bring Derek back from the edge, deep breaths racking his ribcage.

“You good?”

Derek huffs a laugh, licking at the sweat at the bow of his mouth.

“Yes.”

“Good. Okay. Listen carefully, alright? I want you to…” Stiles pauses, breathing harshly down the phone, “I want you to take off the tie but keep the knot intact, okay? Then I want you to put it around your cock and tighten it up.”

Derek groans helplessly.

“I only want it snug, yeah? Just snug, not tight. You okay?”

Derek exhales and nods.

“Yes… _fuck_ , yes.”

“Okay, go ahead. I’m right here, Derek. Try not to move the plug.”

Derek keeps his hips very still, even though he can feel every dip and rise of the ribbing inside, pressing all along his prostate. He loosens the tie and slides it up and over his head, the silk already dark with sweat. He has to bite down on his lower lip to take the edge off the sensation of the fabric sitting against the base of his cock.

“What does it feel like, Derek?”

“Like I’m gonna come,” he hisses back between clenched teeth, tightening the knot around the root and groaning when that does the trick.

“You’re not allowed yet. Do you need a moment?” Stiles’ tone bodes no argument, not that Derek would even try to make one. He breathes in, then out, once, twice, three times and forces his body under control. The silk now acting as a cock ring certainly helps.

“Going to ruin this tie,” He says, trying to put his mind off coming.

“Is it the green one?” Stiles says, with a certain amount of glee and Derek glares in the general direction of the phone.

“Yes.”

“Two birds, one stone.”

Derek snorts but feels more in control now, still leaning back against the wall, the stone helping him cool down.

“You feeling good?” Stiles quizzes, a quiet pride in his tone that makes Derek’s head loll down.

“Yes. Very good.”

“You’re amazing, you know that? Pick up the belt, Derek.”

He does, gripping the worn leather between his fingers and resting its surface just below his nose, breathing in the strong smell that’s all Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.

“Wrap it around you hands. As best you can. Not too tight.”

He threads the end through the buckle, pushing his hands through the loop and tightens it with his teeth. Stiles’ smell is in his mouth now, mingled with the taste of leather and his cock pulses against the silk tie, head fat and red. He groans. Stiles is going to be the death of him. La petite mort, he thinks and huffs a broken half chuckle.

“You good? Drop back on your shoulders.”

He falls forward like a toppled tree, arms over his head and face pressed against the mattress, hips and ass still held high like he knows Stiles wants him. The position leaves him feeling utterly vulnerable, tied up and exposed, and yet Stiles is everywhere around him. His smell on the belt, his voice against his ear, the maddening press of his plug inside his ass.

“God I can’t even imagine what you look like now, Derek,” Stiles voice is dark and soft like a caress.

Derek shudders and moans, splaying his knees further apart, back arching and muscles bunching under his skin. He’s burning up and clenching involuntarily around the firm shape of the plug. The sheets are spotted with his sweat and his face is wet with more than that, the feeling so intense. His lungs are beating out a staccato rhythm and when he tilts his chin against his chest to look at it, his cock is straining against his stomach. He takes a deep breath and for a moment the only sound in the room is Stiles’ hand working itself up and down his own cock.

“You okay? Colours, Derek.”

“…Green…fu-uck, green.” Derek manages to whine into the arm closest to the phone.  

“We’re nearly done baby, you’re doing incredibly well. Just a little more and you can come, okay? Think you can take it?”

His body is screaming no at him, crying for release but his mind is filled with Stiles’ voice, anchored firmly in what they both want and he shakes his head.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Move back against the wall. You got leverage?”

Derek thinks he knows what Stiles wants him to do, so he shuffles back on his knees until he feels the press of the headboard against his ass. Angling himself carefully against the wide struts and pressing back, he can feel the plug digging deeper in his body and Jesus fucking Christ, he’s seeing stars already.

“Careful,” he hears Stiles say through the misty haze of pleasure and he eases away from the headboard.

“You’re going to fuck yourself on that plug now, Derek. You’re going to push back against it, again and again and I want to hear all of it, understand? I want every. single. sound.”

He keens and nods feverishly, too lost in the sensations to form actual words.

“Good. Go on then, be good for me,” Stiles says, voice full of encouragement and warmth. It makes Derek arch his spine and press back harder than perhaps he should. The plug grinds against his prostate and the sob it punches from his lungs racks his chest. He’s going half mad from the pleasure, pushing the toy deeper, harder, finding a stuttering rhythm that has him whining and moaning through every gasped breath.

“I want you here, next to me right now, so I can see what you look like when you make those sounds Derek.”

The words thrum against his head and his answering moan is high and shattered.

“I can’t wait to see you like this, can’t wait to see you fucking yourself on that plug, opening yourself up for my cock.”

He pushes back harder, trying and failing to reach the kind of depth that Stiles manages when he’s inside him. He wants him here so badly, wants to be grounded and held and secured against the pressure of his responsibilities, against the strain of being on his own.

His fringe is sticking to his forehead and he can feel lube and sweat trickling down along the seam of his balls, the teasing touch infuriating. Only the tie and Stiles’ lack of permission is keeping him from coming, has him riding the edge hard instead, fucking himself and letting himself be fucked completely. He feels released yet focused, past halfway crazy and so completely anchored.

“Please Stiles, please,” he’s never been above begging, not for this and never when he’s needed it as badly as now.

“You want to come? Already?” the note of relief makes it evident that Stiles is barely holding on himself and the image of him on their bed, splayed out and spotted pink with yearning makes Derek groan harshly into the sheets.

“It’s alright Derek, I’m gonna give you what you want. Hnn, fuck, I’m gonna give us both what we want.”

Stiles’ jacking is slick and feverish over the phone and his voice is so raspy, he sounds like he’s been shouting for hours. His breath coming in ragged gasps is just another layer of sensation, in the array of pleasure Derek’s experiencing now, senses maxed out and on overload.

“Fuck, get the tie off Derek. Do it now.”

He pulls his arms down, shoulders screaming in protest, pressing his nose against the leather as it moves past his face. He ends up supporting his upper body weight against his forehead, looking down as his fingers tug the tie away. He’s free and the rush of blood to the head of his cock is making him dizzy, suspended at the very edge with the plug dragging relentlessly against his prostate and his dick twitching.

“Tomorrow, you’re going to come like this, exactly like this, but on my cock. Come, Derek, come.”

Derek manages a cry and then he’s flying.

He whites out a bit, body shaking with the release, cock shuddering and soaking his hands and the belt in come. His hole spasms against the plug, adding more pressure to his prostate and making flashes go off before his eyes, having him shout with each bolt of pleasure racing up his spine.

“That’s it, fu-uck Derek.”

He can hear Stiles desperation through the fuzz of his quaking aftershocks and he manages to find his voice, at least enough of it to rasp, “Please Stiles, come, fill me up. Please let me…” He breaks at the sound of Stiles coming, answering his rough cry with a moan of his own.

He tumbles down onto the mattress like a stone, falling onto his side. Breathing heavily, he doesn’t move, not for ten minutes, an hour, he’s not sure how long. The pleasure thrums in waves, washes over him in shudders and tiny spasms. He’s got Stiles breath and his voice murmuring soft nothings in his ear the whole time. Finally he rolls over onto his back and squirms out of the belt.

“Fuck, Derek that was so good. You okay now? Ready to get up and get ready for bed? You did so well for me, so **well**.”

He groans and clicks his neck, back cracking at the same time.

“Yeah, I’m good. Thank you.” He doesn’t think he can ever fit everything he feels into those two words but he certainly tries.

“No, Derek, thank _you_. I’ll stay on the phone. Get going.”

He stumbles into the bathroom, wiping himself down with a wet towel and brushing his teeth in spite of his exhaustion. He leans over against the sink and pulls the plug out, groaning as it slips free from his hole. He leaves it in the tub and walks back into the bedroom.

“You there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Look in the bag again. Left you something else. Main compartment, sealed black plastic bag.”

It’s Stiles’ ugly, threadbare red hoodie. The one he’s been wearing for years. Derek slips it over his head right away. It's snug against his chest and when he breathes in, it fills his lungs with the pure, unadulterated scent of Stiles. Between this and the afterglow, he’s about two seconds away from passing out.

He spreads a towel over the wet spot and curls up on his side, facing the phone he’s moved next to his head by the pillow.

“Right. I’m going to talk at you about the second part of my thesis. You just go ahead and go to sleep, big guy.”

“Phone bill,” Derek murmurs softly, eyes already fluttering shut.

“Screw the phone bill, I’m not leaving you alone after a scene like that. Not ‘til you're out. I'm afraid you're stuck with me and the Russian masters until then, buddy.”

Derek smiles into the pillow and lets himself sink further down into it.

“Stuck with you.”

He falls asleep somewhere between Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky.

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit and comments always welcome! Hit me up on tumblr if you like TW meta @shipsanddip


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